


Slick

by Cybele2013



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Cling film, Fetish, Kink, M/M, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cybele2013/pseuds/Cybele2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of hand-me-down pants reveals a side of Harry he never knew existed.  Written after OotP.  Hopelessly AU after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slick

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to DementorDelta for smacking me with the comma stick and for giving me a title. And to all my friends at Livejournal who offered me springboards to jump from.   
> This story is dedicated to Snaples because I owe her so much.

It started when Harry inherited a pair of Dudley's old silk boxer shorts 

He inherited them clean, naturally, and Harry had become quite accustomed to the thought of wearing Dudley's worn out pants. Normally, he didn't give the things a second thought. He'd simply accept them, cinching the waist and tucking the bunched fabric under the equally bunched fabric of his trouser waistband. All would be held neatly at his hips by an old belt that Harry could almost wrap around himself twice.

And then Harry inherited the pants. These, unlike the cotton y-fronts rendered dingy by countless washings that Harry was accustomed to, were nearly new. Dudley had worn them merely a day before complaining in a fitful rage that they made his arse sweat. So he traded the shorts for a tube of cream that would alleviate the chafing.

Harry had sneered when he found them among his clean washing and lifted them from their nest in his underwear drawer. The burgundy with paisley print made them hard not to notice. The cloth fell over his hands like cool liquid, tickling the inside of his forearms. Deciding these would make for an interesting change, Harry tried them on.

This is where it all began. And now, when Harry looks back to pinpoint the moment he discovered his hidden kink, he remembers the moment he put on Dudley's ugly silk underwear. The way the fabric lifted the sparse hairs on his upper thighs like a cool breeze in the heat of July as he pulled them up. The almost wet feeling of the material as the smooth silk slipped over the sensitive flesh of his limp cock. It was as light as a breath over his balls. Nothing Harry'd ever experienced had come close to feeling so sensual. Within mere seconds, he was hard. Enfolding his stiffening erection into the generous fabric, Harry brought himself to the peak of pleasure as many times as his sixteen year old body would allow. 

It was the beginning; that part is clear. What is less clear is how Harry's affair with a glorified wanking sock has escalated to such a point that he finds himself where he is now: on all fours, scantily clad in artfully placed strips of black latex, wearing a dog collar and aching to be obedient.

Harry's back arches defensively as the cold chain of the lead slackens to lie between his shoulder blades. He takes a calming breath through his nose, fighting the urge to look behind him, to see his master's appraising eyes slide over him. Harry shivers reflexively. That gaze has followed him for nigh on ten years. It is only in the last four, however, that the watchfulness has become anything more than a nuisance.

Neither man can remember what misdeed brought Harry to Snape's office on that fateful afternoon. Harry was, as usual, being accused of something. He remembers that he was, as usual, mostly innocent of the crime. He remembers that Snape gave him that searching look, seeking to tap into Harry's thoughts and discover the boy's guilt. 

It backfired.

Snape had shot himself in the foot in Harry's fifth year, teaching the boy the key to his own power. Harry's sixth year had seen the boy ready to engage in a battle of minds. Snape, who'd underestimated Harry's dedication to learning the art of Occlumency, had found himself unprepared to defend his own secrets from Harry's quick invasion.

Harry found himself unprepared to deal with what was hidden within Snape's mind. 

He never expected to see himself lurking there, but the image came to him in a flash before Snape had the presence of mind to seal his thoughts off. Harry saw himself, sitting on the cool tiles of the Gryffindor locker room, well after his team members had retired to the castle. In his hand he held a stick of butter, nicked from the kitchens. The yellow stuff seeped through his clenched fist as he spread it along a black plastic bin bag, nicked from the Dursleys. He saw Snape standing over him, unnoticed, watching as Harry slid his soiled, greasy hand over his aching erection, coating his swollen balls, and then sliding his fingers between his arse cheeks, over the puckered opening.

He watched Snape's hand clench tightly over his own crotch through his robes as Harry fashioned a lining from the bin bag and fit it into his tighter-fitting y-fronts before dressing.

It had been a game of self-torture for Harry. One which he played often in the earlier days. Depriving himself of pleasure until he was nearly bursting with need, purposefully mounting his arousal until the night when he'd hide himself in the safe darkness of his four-poster where he peeled his pants off, freeing his erection which was slick with butter, sweat and pre-come and finally relieve the ache.

It had been a private game, he'd thought.

"You've been watching me?" Harry nearly choked on the notion. Humiliation and anger battled colourfully in his face.

A sadistic smile graced the thin pale lips. "What are you going to do, Potter? Tell the Headmaster?" Snape stood from behind his desk and leant over it, glaring down at Harry. Malice spread across his face in the form of a dreadful grin. "Do it," the man growled low, "And find out how quickly news of your private habits spreads across this school."

An unspoken agreement was thereby forged. Silence for silence.

The waiting is the most difficult part. The absence of sensation other than the slightly chill air and the heaviness of the stillness bearing upon him. Patience has never been Harry's strong suit. Snape knows this and forces the younger man to wait even longer, until his anticipation gathers at the tip of his harnessed cock. Finally, Harry need wait no longer. Snape wraps the metal lead around his hand and yanks hard, causing Harry's head to snap back, arching his spine even more splendidly. An expectant moan is strangled by the tight leather collar.

"Spread your knees," Snape tells him and Harry obeys immediately, straddling the air and opening himself up for Snape's view. Snape can see the sliver of the silver ring nestled snugly around Harry's cock and balls. The small leather strap cuts down the middle, separating the swollen bollocks and attaching to a smaller metal ring which chokes the base of the younger man's cock. Harry arches his lower back optimistically, exposing the flesh of the perineum, made smooth and hairless by masochistic Muggle hair removal strips. Harry is wanton in his youthful perfection. He knows what images his lover finds desirable and poses himself to please.

Harry feels sexy.

People had always found him attractive. Harry had no lack of attention where girls were concerned, although he was never quite convinced that it was him and not his scar that caught their attention. Even when it came to Ginny, Harry couldn't be certain if his girlfriend was dating him or the boy who lived.

For months after his and Snape's confrontation, Harry had refrained from indulging himself in any unusual private play. He tried to content himself to the average wank, using nothing but spit or the occasional dot of hand lotion to ease the way. When he looks back on these times, he remembers a constant dissatisfaction. A restlessness sat in the pit of his chest and expanded the harder he tried to convince himself that he could be normal. If he wanted to be. He expected the restlessness to disappear the night he lost his virginity to Ginny. The experience paled in comparison to even his most mundane jerk sessions, Harry hoped that through time he'd come to appreciate 'making love'. He thought perhaps it was merely an acquired taste.

Eventually, Ginny got sick of waiting for Harry to learn to appreciate it. Their lukewarm relationship ended anticlimactically, both parties mutually indifferent to the other. When the attentions of two other girls were accepted, tested, and exploited only to be found equally uninspiring, Harry gave up on the lot. His energy was best directed toward the battle against Voldemort anyway. And summer was approaching.

Summer delivered him to boredom. Boredom bred mischief, and Aunt Petunia wondered what kept happening to the rolls of cling film she was buying. She was certain she'd just bought a box of bin liners, and had they already gone through an entire tub of margarine?

Harry's trunk was a bit heavier when he returned to Hogwarts his seventh year. He used his liberty as a seventeen year old wizard and taught himself to sew magically, lining his entire wardrobe in bin bags. He took to wearing his robes in true wizarding fashion - without the rough jeans and soft cotton t-shirts, his tackle free from constricting and unimaginative y-fronts. 

His hard work was rewarded the first time he slipped into his school robes. An indescribable rush of arousal flooded through him. For the first time in his life, he knew what it was like to _feel_ sexy.

With strict warnings to the house elves not to touch his clothes and with muffling charms to silence the rustle, along with cleverly applied cling film to subdue any potentially embarrassing reactions that the plastic caused, Harry spent the first three months of his seventh year at Hogwarts in a constant state of sexual bliss. Nothing could take the pleasure away from him. His secret was safe.

Or would have been safe.

In retrospect, Harry was lucky that the potion they were studying was a _slow-acting_ dissolving agent. At the time, he didn't feel lucky. In fact, he distinctly remembered his entire life flashing before his eyes when Malfoy had _accidentally_ tipped over his entire cauldron onto Harry's lap.

Protected by the plastic, Harry didn't feel the wetness as it seeped through his robes. He felt the heat first. He looked up, eyes wide, heart clenching with panic, toward Snape who took the time to smirk slowly. Among the non-Slytherins in the advanced class there was uproar, which grew to near riotous rage at Snape's calm, "Now, now. Accidents happen." Harry sat stiffly as Hermione tried pulling him from his chair, pleading with him to "hurry before it starts to work" 

Harry's robes began to smoke. The heat against the plastic grew hotter, and Harry thought he could smell it begin to burn. Looking down, he could see the robe start to dissolve away revealing the slightest bit of plastic underneath. Layer by layer his robes would melt away, revealing the depth of his perversity. Harry was afraid to move. His hands clenched the bench, knuckles going white. Finally a barked, "Potter!" snapped him out of his stunned state.

"Come with me, quickly."

Snape walked hurriedly through a door at the front of the room. Gathering up his courage, Harry sprinted to follow the man into a room lined with shelves, hosting supplies. He shut the door quickly behind him. The reek of the potion, mingled with the stink of burning plastic made Harry's eyes water. He grasped the front of his robes, holding the burning stuff away from his skin. He looked at Snape with a mixture of terror and desperation.

"Take it off, you stupid boy!"

Harry shook his head dumbly. A searing pain at his ankles caused him to cry out. Belatedly, it occurred to him that his socks were soaked through. Suddenly, it seemed his skin was on fire.

"This is hardly time for modesty, you idiot," Snape growled and stalked forward. With a wave of his wand, Snape cut the front of Harry's robe open and pushed it roughly from the boy's shoulders. Harry crumbled to the floor, awkwardly kicking off his shoes. He reached down to remove his socks and found that they had already mostly dissolved. The potion worked on his skin now.

Harry was vaguely aware of Snape roughly grabbing one of his feet and casting away what was left of Harry's sock. He opened his eyes to see Snape sprinkling a purple powder over the skin. It didn't cease the pain, but the burning was not eating any deeper. Harry took a deep breath, wiping a hand over his face and collapsed back onto the floor as Snape retreated to the shelves again. Tears gathered and fell from Harry's eyes as the pain continued on. Without the immediacy of fear to go along with the agony, the burning of humiliation rushed in as a complement. Harry's attention focussed mercilessly on the tight cling film still wrapped around his groin. He squeezed his eyes shut and wished for death.

Snape's touch was disturbingly gentle as he applied a thick layer of viscous cream around Harry's ankles and up Harry's calves. The pain immediately dulled to an ache. The Potions master treated the other leg with the same careful touch. Harry opened his eyes, intent on reminding himself to whom those soothing fingers belonged.

Their eyes met for one eternal moment. It was the first time Harry fully identified the man as human. Snape's eyes left Harry's and raked down the stretch of pale torso, and then down further to where Harry's cock was trapped tightly in transparent film that allowed Snape to see just enough. Pink spread through the sallow skin. Snape averted his eyes, focussing on Harry's discarded, half-eaten robe. Harry looked over and saw the shiny black of the lining.

He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or terrified. Snape had already seen more of Harry's sexuality than anyone else. He'd already kept the secret quiet for just over a year. Would he continue to do so? Harry tried to tell himself that so long as Snape stayed quiet, he didn't care how his professor thought of him. It wasn't important. The man couldn't possibly think less of Harry anyway.

Harry didn't know what to make of the tickle of excitement at the back of his brain. Snape had watched him once. Harry had convinced himself that Snape had only watched in horrified fascination. The look on the man's face at this moment, however, didn't speak of horrification. Some alien, desperate hope opened inside Harry to think that Snape might just understand. He didn't know what that would mean, exactly. He didn't imagine then that anything would come of this understanding. It was only that Harry wanted to believe that someone else in the world might like what Harry liked. Even if that someone was Snape.

Snape cleared his throat and stood up. He walked to a shelf and pulled a folded old robe from it. "Get up," he commanded. 

Harry scrambled from the floor, protectively wrapping his arms around his waist as he stood. He was shivering, though he wasn't cold. He searched his brain for some kind of reasonable explanation for his rather unusual choice of underwear, but could think of nothing to say. He kept his eyes glued to the floor.

"I trust this will do until you can return to your room," Snape said, sounding as though he was putting a lot of energy into maintaining the irritated edge to his voice.

Harry held out his hand to receive the offering. He was surprised when his arm went into the robe's sleeve. He looked up, wondering why Snape was dressing him, but Snape walked behind him, evading the younger man's questioning expression. Harry reached the other arm back, and the thin coarse fabric slid over it to rest on his shoulders. Snape rounded him again, standing so close that Harry stepped backward. Snape tugged the front of the robe insistently, keeping Harry from putting any more space between them. Harry searched the man's face. Snape's eyes were focussed on the task at hand.

His fingers brushed down Harry's torso and over Harry's stomach as he buttoned the robe slowly. Harry wondered what Snape was doing, or rather why Snape was doing it. The only answer he could come up with sent his stomach lurching with both fear and an even more frightening arousal. He could feel the swell of blood under the restraining cling film. The pressure increased the lower Snape's fingers progressed. Snape's expression was a mask of intense concentration. Nothing in it suggested that he had any thought other than ensuring Harry was dressed. 

Snape's fingers brushed the uppermost strip of cling film, and Harry's hands rushed to Snape's shoulders to keep himself from stepping away. Snape's eyes snapped up to meet Harry's. The man's mouth dropped open. For a moment, he looked as though he'd been slapped.

Harry took a deep breath to stop his head spinning. "Sir?"

Snape stepped back very quickly. "You may leave as soon as you're finished dressing. The burns should be healed in three hours. I'd advise against wearing socks until then. I'll send a note to Professor McGonagall to dismiss you from afternoon lessons."

Snape pushed past Harry and shut the door against Harry's shocked, "Yes, sir." Confused and angry Harry returned to his room. Closing his eyes did nothing to rid his mind of Snape's intense regard. Harry felt shame which made him even angrier. The secrecy of his ritual had been breached. No one was meant to know. _He_ was not meant to know. And now that he did, something was broken. Shame replaced the thrill and Harry felt dirty. 

Methodically, he went about removing the bin liners from his clothes. He stopped when he came to the last one, telling himself he'd remove it later. He couldn't bring himself to do it now. Harry slipped into bed, bringing the mess of discarded plastic along with him under the sheets. He hiked up his robe and removed the cling film. He felt the plastic, cool and smooth, surrounding him, teasing his skin. His cock stretched up, the head gliding along the plastic. Harry pulled his foreskin back, biting his lip as the sensitive head slid along the smoothness, rendering it shiny with pre-come.

It was wrong.

It had to be wrong. He was certain that no one else would ever dream of doing such a thing. He didn't know why he could dream of nothing else. And he couldn't imagine how anyone wouldn't respond to the smooth touch, to the luxurious feel of it when slicked. Like silk or oiled skin, the way it slips around you gently, easily. Harry moaned low, stroking himself slowly, angling his erection up against the plastic so that the tip kissed the shiny black with every down stroke. He imagined Snape was watching.

It made him feel sexy.

The chain of the lead is attached to the ring that grips Harry's balls. Harry can feel the cold metal stretched tight against his skin, separating his arse cheeks. He kneels before his master, his wrists in leather cuffs behind his back. His mouth opens wide, and his tongue extends to catch a taste of his master's cock. Whenever he leans forward the rough links of the chain grate over his opening. The teeth of tiny metal serpents bite into his nipples and from their tails, weights fight against gravity. Every slight movement is sweet agony.

"Suck it," Snape orders in a low, warm voice that keeps the chill of the air at bay. Harry gives a faint whine as he forces his head against the restraint to wrap his lips around his master's erection. His bollocks protest the continued pulling. His cock strains in the opposite direction, persevering despite the pain.

Snape's hands cup Harry's cheeks, his fingers curling behind the Harry's ears. He takes pity on the younger man and moves his hips forward, rewarded by a hum of gratitude that resonates through him. "Look at me," Snape orders on a shaky breath.

Harry raises his eyes, which water despite him. He focuses his blurry vision on the man above him - feeling at once powerful and humbled as he always does in these situations. Love and gratitude swell within him, strangling his laboured breaths. 

Snape pulls away abruptly, causing Harry to lurch forward, but catching the boy before he can fall face first onto the floor. Snape falls to his knees before the younger man and reaches between Harry's thighs and back behind Harry's balls to unclip the lead. The slight brush of Snape's fingers against the tight and sensitised skin of Harry's bollocks is nearly enough to make Harry come. He feels his body contract, and a loud groan escapes his throat. His cock jerks, but the ring around the base keeps the climax at bay.

Harry shakes from the intensity. His head hangs forward slightly. Snape's own face comes close to his own so that Harry can taste the warm breath on his lips. Snape's tongue slides across the slit of Harry's mouth, which opens invitingly. Harry's own tongue chases the sensation. Snape pulls away.

"Please," Harry whimpers, forgetting himself. A stinging slap across the face reminds him of his place in this game. Harry's cock twitches with another intense surge of arousal. He's long ago stopped asking himself why he likes this. His pride still suffers slightly every time he submits, but that too is a part of the game. Harry is Snape's slave.

Snape is a slave to Harry's fantasies, whatever form they take. It's been that way since Voldemort and Dumbledore, Snape's former masters, were killed.

Harry didn't have much idle time on his hands the last part of his seventh year. He had his NEWTs to study for, his Quidditch team to bring to victory, and his lessons to complete. His private time coincided exactly with the time he was meant to spend eating and sleeping.

It wasn't meant to be spent lurking under invisibility cloaks in his professor's private chambers. He'd tried a number of times to convince himself to quit doing it. And every time he'd decide that he would quit. Tomorrow. 

It wasn't exactly voyeurism. Most of the time Harry merely watched Snape marking papers or reading. He memorised what the man's face looked like when not drawn to intimidate. He got to know the man by his habits. The man drank enough coffee on a night to keep a giant awake for a week. Harry wondered how Snape ever managed to sleep and then decided he probably didn't. Snape rocked his foot back and forth hurriedly whenever he was sat quietly reading. Sometimes Snape would simply stare into the fire for what felt like hours.

One night, whilst watching Snape watch the fire and waiting for Snape to make his nightly trip to the loo so Harry could slip out unnoticed, a look of what Harry could only describe as supreme desolation crossed over the man's usually stoic expression. Snape buried his face in his hands and drew his feet up to rest at the edge of his chair. Snape wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his forehead against his knee caps.

For the first time since he'd began doing it nearly four weeks previous, it occurred to Harry that he was intruding upon this man's private life. That what he was doing was perverse - not in the way that wanking into plastic was perverse. In a bad way. It was wrong.

Harry wanted to look away, but couldn't. He stared at a man broken down to honesty. He wanted to walk over and comfort Snape. He wanted to make a noise, announcing his presence. He wanted Snape to stop being human because it was making him uncomfortable.

And then Snape did. His feet slipped back to the floor and with one deep breath, Snape was composed once more. By looking at him, one couldn't tell he ever felt anything. Slowly, Snape stood up and walked toward his bed chamber. Harry stood too, waiting for his cue to slip out the door He listened to the silence for the telling click of the bathroom door shutting.

He heard instead the sound of a drawer opening. And then a slight rustle - a sound that sent a shiver down Harry's spine for it was the sound of plastic. Harry tip-toed to the open door and looked inside the room in time to see Snape's robes slip from the man's shoulders, leaving the man in a long-sleeved under robe. Snape moved out of the line of Harry's sight and Harry heard it again. The rustle. The sound of synthetic heaven.

Snape crossed the room in front of Harry. Harry saw what he recognised to be part of a bin liner dangling from Snape's fingers. Harry's mouth dropped open when it occurred to him that it was what was left of the bin liner that had been eaten by the dissolving agent. And Snape was carrying it to bed with him.

It was all he could do not to voice his excitement. He held his breath to keep from doing just that and watched intently as Snape hiked his under robe up to his waist. Part of Harry wanted to run away. He oughtn't watch this. 

This was what he'd been coming here to see, said the reasonable, randy part of him. And it was true, but Harry had quite given up hope that Snape ever masturbated. Let alone with plastic. Harry's plastic. 

Holy fuck.

Harry shoved his fist in his mouth. Snape's fist closed around his erection. Harry's eyes feasted unabashedly on the organ and wondered what it would feel like in his own hand. Snape stroked, half-heartedly, it seemed. With all the enthusiasm of one washing his hair, Harry thought. The plastic lay, unused and unlubed over Snape's naked thighs. Harry wished more than anything that he could throw off his cloak and show the man how to do it properly.

Snape sucked a lungful of air up through his teeth and sped up his ministrations, every now and again collecting spit with his fingers and rubbing it over the head of his cock to ease the way of foreskin. If Harry could speak, he might have advised the use of butter, or hand lotion even. But he stayed silent. His own cock was hard at the sight, and when Snape reached for the plastic, pulling it over his cock, Harry's own arousal surged painfully. Harry swallowed a groan even as Snape let one go. He watched the man tense, mouth opened wide with a silent scream, and then shudder.

Harry imagined the man's come shooting over the smooth plastic. Snape gathered the shiny black material around his cock, confining the evidence of his pleasure. He fell back on to his bed, his legs hanging loosely to the ground. For a few seconds he lay catching his breath, one hand sliding the plastic lazily along his flesh. A minute later he sat up again, laying the plastic, spunk side up, on his bed and then standing. His under robe fell to his ankles, hiding him from Harry's sight.

Snape walked to his bathroom. The door clicked shut.

Unthinking, Harry crossed the room. He didn't make a conscious decision to snatch the plastic into the confines of his cloak, taking care to protect whatever slickness remained. It was automatic. His escape from Snape's chambers was a quick one; the trek to Gryffindor tower had never seemed so long. Harry slipped out of his cloak and into bed, bringing his stolen treasure along with him. 

"You little bastard!" Snape growled the next day, pushing Harry against the closed door of his office with a force that spoke of a rage that had been only tenuously held at bay all throughout the lesson. "It was you, wasn't it? You were in my chambers last night, weren't you?" Snape's face was scant inches away from Harry's. He smelt of coffee. "You took it," Snape growled.

Harry's hands were held defensively against Snape's shoulders. His breath came in frightened blasts. "T-took what?" he stuttered.

Snape bared his teeth to cover a moment of uncertainty. He studied Harry's face. Harry blinked defensively. He could see Snape second guess himself. He could nearly hear Snape come to the conclusion that if it wasn't Harry, he'd only incriminate himself by accusing the boy.

Snape let go his grip on Harry's robes and stepped away. He was mid-turn when Harry uttered a quiet, "You do it wrong."

Snape's head snapped toward him. "What?"

"It's better if you use something slick inside it," Harry said with forced calm. His stomach was threatening to jump out his throat, and his heart was trying to hammer a hole through his sternum, but his expression remained calm. His gaze, steady. "I like the feel of butter best." Harry took a deep breath. "Come feels nice too," he said, his voice cracking.

Snape stared at him through an unreadable expression. The man radiated intensity as he stepped forward. He looked ready to say something, and Harry braced himself for it to be something horrible. He didn't expect Snape to slap him.

Harry cradled his wounded cheek. His wounded pride reared up, ready to fight. His common sense told him that he deserved the blow. That he should consider himself lucky if that was all he received by way of punishment. Harry turned around, hand going to the door handle. He stopped at the awareness of Snape's presence directly behind him. When Snape said nothing, Harry took a deep breath. "You watched me once."

"I watched you. Once," Snape repeated. His hand moved to pull Harry's from the door knob. 

"I won't tell anybody. I mean, I couldn't really, could I?" Harry turned around slowly in the tight space between Snape and the door. He raised his eyes to meet the other man's. 

Snape raised his hand and gripped Harry's chin, tilting Harry's face up. Harry winced as pointed fingers dug into his cheeks. He stared back at the man defiantly. He couldn't say he was afraid, exactly. Snape didn't frighten him. He knew that Snape couldn't punish him in any official sense. But there was a strange urgency in the air. A busy sort of energy vibrated between the two men. This was more than an interrogation. It was a turning point.

Snape laid his other hand against Harry's chest. "How did you get into my chambers?" he asked, pushing gently until Harry's back was flush against the door. He released Harry's jaw and ran his fingers over the sides of Harry's neck.

Harry's voice was steady, frank, when he answered. "I followed you after you left your office last night. I slipped in before you shut the door."

A flicker of annoyance lit Snape's dark eyes. Harry imagined it was more self-directed. Snape had had no inkling Harry had been there. "Why?" Snape's palm pressed against Harry's Adam's apple.

Harry swallowed with some difficulty. "I don't know," he answered, quickly. He searched his mind for a better answer. He didn't know what he sought to gain by spying on Snape. At the time, it just sounded like the thing to do. He'd questioned himself about it a hundred times and the only thing he could come up with was a vague emotion in response. Compulsion. Harry shook his head. "I really don't know."

Snape's hand closed--not enough to cut off Harry's breath, but enough to hint that it could do if Snape got the notion. Snape leant in, pressing his lips against Harry's ear. "You do," he breathed. "And so do I." Snape pulled back. "The question is what do you mean to do about what you've discovered?"

Harry took a shallow breath, his fist clenching around Snape's robes. Snape's hand relented and moved to the door beside Harry's head. Harry focussed on Snape's expression which had never been so open before. He saw the heated intensity. A fiery hunger burnt within those black eyes. Eyes that saw only Harry. Eyes that saw Harry completely, down to the naked truth. Eyes that liked what they saw. 

 

Harry kneels over a footstool covered in shiny black PVC. His master kneels behind him, fingering his hole relentlessly. Harry begs for the man to take him, to finally bring the game to a close. He begs for cock. He begs to be filled. To be used. And anything else his master tells him to beg for. His mouth moves over the words senselessly. He hasn't the control required to express the needs on his own. The words are fed to him on a breath through his ear.

Finally his pleas are considered and Snape slips inside him easily. Harry's relief manifests as a grateful whine. Master and slave roles are forgotten for the sake of need. Pure animalistic lust drives either man's hips forward and backward. Inhuman growls replace the discourse of the game. Harry touches himself for the first time tonight and feels the organ's gratitude swelling. The blood races to greet his hand; the pressure builds. The cock ring ensures that there is only one outlet for release. Severus' hands slide up Harry's torso and rest at the clamps as the man angles and drives into Harry's trembling body. Harry's never worn them this long and can only guess at the pain that will come with removing them. Anticipation with an edge of fear overwhelms him.

Harry needs this. He doesn't consider the reasons why. He's decided the why doesn't matter. He needs to feel, and that need is so forceful that pride and dignity are subdued by it. He doesn't think about how he must look - wanton and foolish, a slave to his own twisted pleasure. He feels no shame in appearing so weak before this witness. He voices his desperation freely, without fear of judgment.

For while Snape doesn't share them, he understands Harry's needs. He takes his pleasure in indulging them.

Harry stood in the centre of Snape's bedchamber. Even with his eyes closed, he could see his former teacher's expression. Snape watched him, curiosity glimmering in the man's eyes as Harry responded to his attentions. He dragged his tongue across Harry's lips - the only exposed part of Harry's body. The rest of him was wrapped in cling film, bound by the surprisingly strong plastic. Harry's fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He longed to touch his new lover and thrilled in his inability to do so.

Snape had wondered if a binding charm wouldn't have the same effect. Harry had tried to explain that it was the ritual as much as the effect that he found exciting. Snape supposed as a Potions master, he understood. He used his time carefully, stretching out the minutes, testing Harry's patience.

Harry was rewarded by the sound of cling film peeling away from the roll. He felt the soft touch of the stuff on his thigh and then felt it tighten over his skin as Snape stretched it, wrapping it around Harry's legs, binding them. Harry wobbled as his knees were brought snugly together, but he regained his balance. Snape stopped wrapping just above Harry's ankles.

"Are you all right?" Snape asked, his voice uncertain. It made him nervous to have someone so completely at his mercy. Or maybe he felt nervous that someone trusted him enough to allow him so much power.

Harry's lips formed a reassuring smile at the muted question. "Lay me down," he said.

A moment later he hovered weightlessly over the floor. Snape lowered him slowly to the ground. The world around Harry was dulled. The shrink wrap enshrouded Harry's senses giving him an awareness of the cool ground below him, without allowing him to properly feel it. His mouth hung open as though his sense of taste strove to make up for the deprivation of all others. "Touch me," he whispered. 

Snape obeyed, lowering himself to Harry's side and running his fingers lightly over the rough texture of the plastic. Parts which were stretched cleanly were as smooth and warm as the skin underneath them. Other parts were thickly wrapped and the skin below only barely visible. 

Distantly, Harry could feel the touch of those hands. His senses reached out, eager to feel more. Unable to register the sensations properly. A mere tickle of awareness. Harry breathed shallowly, mentally tracking Snape's hands, trying to divine where they would go next. Always surprised. 

Harry breathed. His fists clenched and unclenched at his side. His teeth scraped repeatedly over his lips.

Snape's hands continued their gentle torture, sliding over Harry's legs, a finger trailing the stretch of plastic between them, touching nothing at all. Harry felt even that. The awareness of where that finger could go if not for the barrier. His inner thighs tingled from want of touching. His bollocks contracted as Snape's touch didn't quite reach them.

Harry's fists clenched and unclenched. He breathed shallowly. His body twitched with want of freedom. With want of feeling.

"Kuh," he panted. "Kiss me," he managed. "Please," he offered and was rewarded by the smooth, wet press of lips. A tongue filled his mouth caressing his own tongue while a hand kneaded the hard length of Harry's erection, which lay flat and bound against Harry's abdomen.

Harry couldn't breathe. His fists clenched at his side. His body managed a tight arch, balancing on the back of his head, the heels of his feet. The pressure on his cock increased, moved faster. Distantly, Harry heard Snape's own ragged breathing. He felt it over his cheeks and jaw. He tasted it on his lips.

It was more his anticipation than stimulus that drove Harry over the edge. His entire body jerked as his seed seeped into the minute spaces between skin and plastic. He could still feel the pressure of Snape's hand smoothing over his bound cock mercilessly. He twitched, trying to get away from the touch. Just for a moment. Long enough to recover.

When finally Snape deemed Harry'd had enough, he moved to straddle the younger man. Harry felt Snape's legs position themselves on the outside of Harry's arms. Harry stuck out his tongue to identify the object tickling his lips. A small choked sound vibrated in his throat as the salty taste coated his tongue. He could sense the movement above him and knew what was coming. He lay helpless and happy to be so. Waiting for Snape to finish, to claim his own reward for services rendered. Within minutes Harry's cheeks were splattered with wet streaks that his tongue strained to taste. Snape slid down Harry's body, settling his weight upon the younger man. It was warm. Unsubtle pressure. 

Concrete.

"Thank you," Harry said.

 

"Gods, Harry," Snape groans and quickens his pace.

Harry's breaths come in hiccoughs as he nears climax. "God, yes, yes... Now!"

The clamps are squeezed open, and the pain is nearly equal in the intensity of pleasure. Harry screams until his voice cuts out. White hot fire sears at his torso, burning a path through his bollocks as the swell of pressure finally explodes despite the impediment. The waves continue to wrack his body, contracting everything inward until it is spit out the only available outlet. Severus continues to slam into him until he too goes tense. He wraps his arms around Harry and brings him close as he shoots deep inside his lover. Harry shudders still and can do naught but breathe and wait for the thrashing inside him to stop. Both men slump forward finally against the ottoman. The PVC is slippery with Harry's seed. His stomach sticks to it every time he takes a breath.

He grins senselessly against the fabric. His lover kisses his neck and lays his cheek on Harry's moist skin. "All right?" Severus breathes. 

Harry gives a mirthful grunt. "I think I almost died. God," he sighs. "Intense." He trembles still and hisses every time his nipples accidentally come into contact with the ottoman. He knows it will be days before they can be treated roughly again. Severus knows this too and shifts back, pulling Harry to the carpeted floor with him. Both men lie there, breathing peacefully. Neither moves to clean up right away. Harry doesn't mind feeling messy. Snape has grown to tolerate it, pushing aside his disgust to savour the afterglow.

Harry finds Severus' hand and squeezes meaningfully. The small gesture is enough to communicate all that must be communicated at times like this. 

Severus entered Harry's small flat in Hogsmeade. Harry looked up from his book and grinned. He put the book aside and stood, studying Severus' face as Severus' eyes took in the younger man's newest 'outfit'.

Long, pale, newly-waxed legs stretched out of very short black shorts, made of that material the boy was so fond of. Latex, Severus remembered. Cutting just under the knee were shiny black boots that were probably meant for a woman with very big feet. Harry's top was bare, but for a harness of criss-crossing strips of patent leather, decorated with strategically placed silver rings that Severus was certain to learn the reason for. The boy turned demonstratively, and Severus' eyes were momentarily trapped on the bunch of fabric inching into that sacred place where only Severus was allowed to go.

"What do you think?" Harry asked.

Severus shook his head exasperatedly, but couldn't quite keep the fond smile off his lips. The boy was a piece of work that Severus was only just beginning to understand. In the nine months since the boy had left school, Severus had come to know the boy more intimately than all of Severus' previous lovers combined. And yet, Severus doubted that he'd seen all there was to see. Harry was in a constant state of self-discovery. Severus, in a constant state of surprise.

He'd never understand fully Harry's obsessions. He'd quite given up trying, content to bear witness to and participate in the younger man's games. To be a helping hand, so to speak. Harry needed him, Severus knew, though he wasn't certain how long he'd be required. He half-expected the boy would find someone with similar proclivities. Someone who would take an honest sexual interest in the boy's games.

Severus' own pleasure came only in indulging the boy's fantasies. In his own way, he supposed, Severus needed to be needed. 

"Wait right there," Harry said, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

Severus raised an eyebrow and watched the half-naked boy run, surprisingly steadily, into the bedroom. A rustle of a plastic bag, a moment of silence, and the boy reappeared. He wore a simple black dog collar, a metal disk dangling from a ring. He held his hands behind his back.

"I bought you something," he said, smiling. He stopped in front of Severus and lifted his chin. "Read it," Harry urged. 

Snape lifted the tag. He smirked at the inscription. "Property of Severus Snape," he drawled, reading aloud. He raised an eyebrow. "I've never cared for dogs," he said.

Harry gave an impertinent look and took one of Snape's hands, depositing a leash. "You'd better start caring for dogs," Harry said with a pleased expression. He sank to his knees, looking up. "I require a lot of attention," he added with mock seriousness.

Severus glared down at the boy, who nuzzled his crotch. Grabbing a fistful of hair, Severus yanked the boy's head back. Harry groaned. With a resigned sigh, Severus sank to one knee and attached the lead to the ring at Harry's throat. 

"You _require_ obedience training," Severus corrected.

Harry gave a wicked grin. It was a look Severus knew well. The glint in the boy's eyes hinted at a whole new world of possibilities, limited only by his seemingly endless imagination. The stir in Severus' trousers promised that the adventure would be a pleasurable one. The hitch in his chest made him doubt that it was he who held the lead.

Littered around the room are the props of their great game, forgotten for now. On the bedside table a leather collar forms a semi-circle around a chain lead. A cheap metal disk, tarnished from years of play, still proclaims ownership proudly.

The two men lie close together in the centre of a large bed. Harry's arm drapes comfortably over Severus' side. Severus' fingers stroke it lightly before weaving between Harry's own. Their minds wander their separate paths toward sleep. Severus pulls Harry's arm tighter around him as though insisting that the physical aspect, at least, shall remain together. It's an unconscious move that touches some distant part of Harry's own subconscious, assuring him that he is needed too.

Harry steps back from the edge of sleep to lay a soft kiss on the back of Severus' neck. Severus knows that Harry will still be there in the morning.


End file.
